


Calendar Boy, May

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Battle, F/M, Romantic Friendship, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the k!meme in celebration of Jakface's Dragon Age Man Calendar, featuring Sten, Messere May.</p><p>Anyway, I see Sten as a sort of connoisseur of sensory experience- he likes art, flowers, food/cookies, and talks fondly about missing the tea and incense of Seheron.</p><p>Also, despite the banter with Morrigan (which Bioware devs have confirmed on the forums was Sten trolling Morri) Sten seems unfamiliar with the word and concept of "flirting." The devs also wrote on the forums that affection is generally separated from mating, and that the tamassran would run the breeding program.</p><p>So Sten, like Alistair, grew up in an environment where he was taught to focus on duty and training, and romance/physical relationships would have been an unnecessary waste of time and energy. He might have the theoretical knowledge, but he doesn't have the practical experience.</p><p>Girstenn was my first Dragon Age toon, an F!Aeducan, and one of my few non-Kit characters :)  And she wanted to romance Sten sooooo bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"What about Sten? The way he looks at me, with those eyes...creeeepy."

Girstenn bristled. "Alistair," she warned. She'd been scrubbing the kettle, willing enough to put up with her fellow Warden's harmless prattle, but Sten was... different.

And he's so _quiet_ for someone so big."

"Not everyone feels the need to talk incessantly," she replied pointedly.

"Right," he said with a grin, the veiled insult sliding off him like water.

Girstenn wondered sometimes whether he ever took anything seriously. Alistair was like her mabari- endlessly cheerful, childish, and noisy. Not that she minded, really- whatever else he was, he was her brother by virtue of their shared and corrupted blood, and by the Stone, she'd already lost two. She'd tried, awkwardly, to comfort him after they'd lost Duncan, but his raw emotion, bared for all to see, so very human and frail had made her squirm with discomfort. Given the choice between his sarcasm and foolishness and his tears, she'd take the foolishness.

Ridiculous as he could be, Alistair picked up on her tone. "Yet he doesn't seem quite so bad as the Chantry tells us. According to them, his philosophy is _vile_ and _eeeevil-_ "

Girstenn snorted. "You humans love to pass judgment, indeed. I'm sure they have some choice words regarding my kind as well."

Alistair grinned. "Worshiping one's ancestors is only _slightly_ better than worshiping nothing at all, but as you might guess the Chantry tends to keep that to themselves."

Girstenn rolled her eyes. "It'd be a shame indeed if the lyrium stopped coming, hmm?"

Alistair nodded. "But Sten seems so reasonable- and yet, he killed all those people. He doesn't even deny it. Doesn't that- bother you?"

"What do you know about the Qunari and their swords?" Girstenn asked carefully. She wasn't sure if she was betraying a confidence, but she needed her brother to understand, to _trust_.

"They're- well-made and dangerous?" Alistair hazarded.

Girstenn shook her head. "From what Sten told me, warriors are given their weapon upon being placed in the military, and it is the outward symbol of their very identity, their soul. It's-" she thought for a moment- "Like the Warden's Oath, or a templar's shield, but very nearly a part of them like a mage's magic."

Alistair shrugged. "What does that have to do with Sten murdering people?" he asked.

"Alistair-" Girstenn sighed. "When he and his brothers fought the darkspawn, Sten was rendered unconscious. When he awoke, his brothers were dead and gone, along with his sword, his soul. It is a marker of his identity in Qunari society, and he said that if he were to return without it, they would know him as a soulless deserter and slay him on sight."

"That's ridiculous!" Alistair sputtered. "It's just a bloody _sword_ -"

"Not to the Qunari, apparently- discarding the symbol of your role is like- putting out the eternal flame in your Chantry, or pissing on a statue of Andraste, or something. In any case, when Sten awoke without it, and realized what that meant, he panicked." Girstenn scrubbed at the pot with vigor. "In rage and fear, he reacted. And when he realized what he had done, and to whom, he waited for the punishment he realized he deserved. When we found him in that cage, he was waiting to die, far from home, in dishonor, and without his soul."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "You've spent some time thinking about this," he offered.

Girstenn grinned. "I spend a lot of time thinking about all of you- humans, elves, qunari, mages, templars, assassins- you're all a bizarre lot. Not as much sense in all of you as the least of the _dwarva_ , and with your unnatural fondness for open spaces-" she shuddered theatrically.

Alistair laughed. "Thanks, I think?" he smirked.

"So, in answer to your question, no, it doesn't bother me. Sten made a terrible mistake, and he recognized it. I daresay that none of us can claim to be without fault."

"They're still strange," Alistair said.

"To you, brother mine," Girstenn answered, "But in Orzammar, everyone has their rank and place. You have your caste, your _kalna_ , your position, and your honor. I was raised the second child of the house of Aeducan, and never a day went by that I did not do my duty. I do it now, and will continue to do it until I return to the Stone."

"Huh," said Alistair, thoughtfully. "So you think the Qunari are like- a nation of Wardens, everyone doing their duty down the last farmer?"

Girstenn shrugged. "From the sound of it, a fair comparison."

He shuddered. "Maker help us if they ever decide to invade."

Drying her hands on a scrap of cloth, she turned and poked him in the ribs, wringing a yelp from him. "Since you've so much spare time, how about doing _your_ duty and finishing these?" she gestured to the dirty dishes. "I think it was your turn last night, wasn't it, but you were off _frolicking_ in the woods like an elf-"

"Alistair does not frolic with the grace of an elf, my dear Warden," came an accented voice, "more like a lumbering bear."

"Hey!" Alistair said indignantly.

Girstenn left Alistair and Zevran to their bickering, and retreated to her tent to get her tools and the chainmail hauberk they'd looted off a dead bandit. It had a lot of rusty links that needed replacing, and there was a weak spot on one of the leather straps of her plate-

She dragged it all out by the fire, and sitting comfortably on the ground, began to work, carefully opening the spare chainmail links with her pliers, removing the rusty links, and replacing them with the new links before bending them carefully into place. She hummed tunelessly as she worked, setting the rusted links aside. She'd drop them off at the next town for the blacksmith- no use wasting the scrap metal.

"Warden," said a familiar voice from across the fire, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

"Sten," she said, fitting the ring into place _just so_ -

She looked up to see him unbraiding his hair, and watched with interest as large fingers deftly undid the tight rows, his white hair wavy as he worked.

"What are you doing?" she said, curiously.

"Hair, like weapons or armor, requires care from time to time," he said. "I will wash and then re-braid it."

"Why not leave it down?" Girstenn asked.

He looked at her. "Do you not tie up your own, Warden?" he asked rhetorically. "We are warriors, you and I-we do so because it is impractical to have hair in one's eyes during battle."

"True," she said, "but if practicality were the only reason, why not simply shave it off?"

"I prefer it as it is," he answered, working on the next row.

"And here I thought Qunari had only duty in place of preference," Zevran chimed in, joining them at the fire.

"In all matters relating to the welfare of the whole, yes," Sten said implacably, "But in smaller things one always has preferences. The matter in which I appear to others is of my own choosing, as long as it does not impact the greater good. This method lasts for several weeks with minimal care, and is therefore practical. It also pleases me and harms no one, and is thus desirable."

Zevran hmm'ed, then began to unbraid his own hair. "It is an interesting style, my large friend. Perhaps you could show me how it is done?"

"Perhaps," Sten said, then stood up and went into his tent, coming back out with soap. He headed down to the river, presumably to wash his hair.

"Is everyone braiding their hair?" came Alistair's plaintive voice. "I feel so left out." He sat next to Girstenn, planting a pouty expression on his face.

"You could always braid our Warden's hair," Zevran said with a grin.

"Do you even know _how_ to braid hair?" Girstenn said with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure I could learn," Alistair smirked at her. "I can't promise that it'll look _good_ -"

She made a face at him. "I'll pass."

"That is a shame, my dear Warden," Zevran said with a sigh. "Always you wear your hair so severely- I have little idea even of how long it is."

Girstenn rolled her eyes. "I don't know why the length of my hair should matter to you, Zevran," she said, and he leered at her.

"Dearest Warden, how else would I know how to picture you in my arms, one hand in your hair, the other-"

She threw a stick at him, which he deftly caught and threw into the fire with a laugh.

"I could braid it for you, if you like," Leiliana offered.

" _Kallak_ and _partha_ ," Girstenn sighed. "Why does everyone want to braid my hair?"

"Why not?" Leiliana laughed. "It's fun!"

Girstenn sighed- she had a soft spot for the Orlesian, even if she was more than a little odd with her invisible god. "Fine, just replace the strap on this first," she said, tossing the bit of armor her way. She bent to her work on the chainmail, and had nearly finished by the time Sten returned, hair damp, and began rebraiding his hair.

Zevran was toying idly with his own hair, unbraiding and rebraiding it in various styles, a small mirror set before him. Alistair was playing the Orlesian game of _Seul_ with a worn deck of cards, frowning when he had no further moves and cheating. Morrigan was off at her own campfire, being her usual antisocial self, and Oghren had passed out in his tent.

"Let me get some ribbons," Leiliana said, and returned moments later with a few strands of dark green satin. "These will look lovely," she said with a smile.

"A bit like gilding a plowhorse, don't you think?" Girstenn said dryly, and Leiliana laughed. "Just because you are a warrior does not mean you are not also a woman," she said, and Sten twitched.

The bard stood behind her, and with careful hands removed the metal pins from her bun. As her hair fell, Girstenn looked up to see all three men staring at her. "What?" she muttered.

"Oh, my," Leiliana said, and Girstenn could hear the smile in her voice. "I had no idea it was so long and pretty. Let me get my brush," she said, and left Girstenn sitting in front of the fire.

Combing her fingers awkwardly through her red-gold hair, Girstenn raised an eyebrow at Zevran. "What are you _staring_ at?" she said with irritation. "Haven't you ever seen a woman with her hair down before?"

Zev grinned at her. "Ah, but my dear Warden, I have never seen you with your hair down. It is quite becoming, and now, when I picture the two of us together, your hair loose like a fall of molten silk over your pale skin-"

"Don't make me find something else to throw at you," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

"It _is_ very pretty," Alistair offered.

"It's hair," she said with a shrug, and stood up, hauberk in hand. Her hair fell around her shoulders, wisps curling in the firelight, to below her waist, and she shook it out with irritation before moving to put the armor back in her tent.

When she returned and sat back down, Leiliana began to brush her hair. "Why do you keep it so long?" she asked.

Girstenn shrugged. "Most of the lower castes keep their hair short for practical reasons- it's considered a mark of rank to grow it out. My family always insisted that I have it long, from the time I was a child, and I've simply grown used to it. I suppose I could cut it off now-"

Sten made a noise from across the fire, and she looked up to see him frowning. "You should not," he said, shortly.

"Why is that?" she asked, feeling contrary.

"It suits you," he answered, and unbidden, she felt a hint of heat rise in her cheeks.

"I agree," said Leiliana, and as she continued to brush, Girstenn relaxed, eventually closing her eyes and enjoying the ministrations. When the bard began to braid, fingers and brush moving together, Girstenn shrugged internally. Why not?

After another half-hour or so, Leiliana declared it done. "There," she said, "You look quite fetching."

Zevran handed her the small mirror, and Girstenn looked to see her hair parted on one side and swept smoothly across her forehead, culminating in a wide, flat braid to the side that ran from her shoulder to her waist, entwined and tied off with the green ribbon.

"It's very nice," she said to Leiliana, "not quite practical for battle, but comfortable."

Alistair yawned. "I'm worn out," he announced, and got up with a stretch. "Good night, everyone."

Leiliana got up to put her brush away, and returning with her lute, began to play a soft, soothing tune. Zevran lay back against the log and closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the fire, and Sten finished braiding his hair, expression relaxed.

Girstenn looked over at Sten and said, "Care for a game of _ajedrez_?" He let out a noise of assent and she fetched the board and its ivory and ebony pieces with pleasure. They'd discovered a mutual fondness for the Antivan game of strategy, Zevran occasionally helping her. She'd yet to win against Sten, but it was entertaining to try, and when she'd finally beaten Zevran one night she'd realized she was getting better.

She moved to sit across from him, setting up the board, and looked up to find him watching her. "What?" she said, and his amethyst eyes met hers.

"I don't understand," he said looking at her hair, "You look like a woman."

Zevran choked off a laugh. "Are you _flirting_ , my Qunari friend?"

Sten frowned at him. "Flirting? I do not know this word, elf; speak the common tongue." He turned back to Girstenn. "Well?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I _am_ a woman."

Sten moved a piece, then said, "You are a Grey Warden, so it follows that you can't be a woman."

"Why not?" she said, and moved a piece in response.

He frowned at the board, pondering, then moved another piece. "Women are priests, artists, shopkeepers or farmers. They don't fight."

She pondered, then captured a piece. _I'll probably regret that_. "That's not a universal truth, Sten- dwarven women are often warriors."

"Why would women ever wish to be men? That makes no sense," he answered, moving another piece into place.

"They don't wish to be men; they wish to be women who fight," she replied, avoiding his obvious trap and moving a Squire.

"Do they also wish to live on the moon? That's as attainable." He moved a piece and she swore under her breath as he captured a Sister.

"I'm a woman, and I'm fighting," she said, backpedaling to avoid losing a Templar.

He eyed her critically. "One of those things can't be true," he responded, moving one of his Mabari in a way that had her absolutely baffled. "A person is born, qunari or human or elvhen or dwarf- he doesn't choose that. The size of his hands, whether he is clever or foolish, the land he comes from, the color of his hair- these are beyond his control. We do not _choose_ , we simply are."

Too late, she saw his trap, and bit her lip. Oh, she was losing a Mother, at the very least, if not a Queen- "But a person _can_ choose what to do," she said, sacrificing a Mother to protect the Queen.

"Can they?" he responded, capturing her Mother. "We'll see."

"I did not choose to be a woman, or born of my _kalna_ ," she said, "But given the choice between becoming a Warden or dying in the Deep Roads, I chose to become a Warden, and in doing so chose to fight. I am still a dwarf, a woman, and a Warden." She moved a piece carefully.

"Were you of the Qun, you would perhaps be of the tamassran, charged with instructing children in the ways of a warrior, or ashkaari, a scholar, researching weapons. But a woman does not become a karasten, a soldier. She must be kept from harm, so that she may produce offspring without endangering herself or the child," he said, carefully dodging her attack.

Girstenn shook her head. "Is that the defining role of a woman, then, to produce offspring?" She moved another piece and watched him frown.

"What else could it possibly be? What other difference is there between men and women, but for the fact that women carry and produce children?" He moved again.

She took his sacrificial piece with a smile- it wasn't often that she could successfully steer him into a loss. "What of those that cannot produce children? Even the Qunari must have barren women."

He shrugged. "I know of no such women, but if they exist I imagine they do as other women do, despite such a liability." He moved a squire, and she caught the trap he was building.

"As a Warden, I have been informed that it is unlikely I shall ever bear children. Therefore I have no offspring to protect, and my role, such as it is, is to protect Ferelden against the Blight. Physically I am a woman, but the expectations placed upon me require service unlike that of your Qunari women. I _must_ fight." She moved a piece to protect her Mabari.

She looked up to see him watching her with an odd expression of sympathy. "That is unfortunate," he said.

"If I had remained in Orzammar, any marriage I would have had would have been for political gain, my children pawns to be married off for allegiance. In this way, I serve and protect an entire country, instead of just a family name."

He moved, and she saw it at last, the net closing in. "By the Stone, how do you _do_ that?" she said, knocking over her King in acknowledgement.

"He is a master, our Qunari friend," a velvet voice whispered in her ear, and she nearly shrieked in surprise to find Zevran so close. He moved away a few inches, then said, casually, "I find myself ready to retire for the night." Girstenn felt light fingers ghosting over the back of her neck. "Care to join me?"

"Zevran," she warned, and he sighed, loudly. "And you break my heart once more, cruel Warden. As you will."

He stood up and sauntered over to his tent, not looking heartbroken in the least. She looked over to see Sten frowning at her. "You do not welcome the elf's... attentions?" he asked.

Girstenn felt heat rising in her cheeks. "I do not," she said, and rose to put the game away. She heard Leiliana chuckle, and without quite knowing why, hurried into her tent with a cursory "Good night."

******************************************************************************************

 _4 days later..._

"Zevran," Leiliana said, sputtering.

"I know, terrible," he said with a grin. "But it is only because I care for you, my dear Leiliana- if you would but allow me to show you-"

The bard stalked off with an inarticulate growl, Girstenn shaking her head bemusedly.

"Why do you persist in such behavior?" Sten asked. "It is clear that she does not wish to couple with you."

"Ah, but it is only because she is Orlesian- they love to tease. When her frustration gets the better of her-" he chuckled- "I will be here."

"'No' means 'yes' to you?" Girstenn asked with a scowl.

"You misunderstand, Warden," he said, hand up placatingly. "'No' means 'no,' of course, but 'I hate you' simply means 'not yet.' It is a subtle difference."

"Have you nothing better to do then to pursue such things?" Sten asked disdainfully.

"What could be better, my friend, then to experience one of the most exquisite pleasures this life has to offer?" Zevran asked. "Like drinking in the fragrance of a rose in bloom, looking upon a work of art, or tasting the perfection of a freshly baked pastry- it is but one more of the joys of living- the act of love."

"One can feel affection for another without wishing to mate with them," Sten said.

"Indeed, but it is ever so much more fun," Zevran replied. "Surely even the Qunari recognize the value of lovemaking."

"The Qunari mate to produce children, at the direction of the tamassran, as is their duty," Sten said stiffly. "Affection has no place in such a contract of service."

"Tch. Next you will be telling me that you do not even enjoy it," Zevran said.

"I would not know," Sten said, "I have never been chosen for such a duty."

Zevran turned to him in shock. "What- never?" he said. " _Braska_ , is every warrior in our party a blushing maiden?"

He turned to Girstenn. "Surely you are not, my dear. Tell me it is not so, for the gods themselves would weep at such an injustice."

Girstenn felt heat rising in her cheeks. "That's a bit personal, don't you think?" she said.

"Ah, you are blushing- say it is not so!" Zevran raised an eyebrow. "I would be happy to remedy the situation for you- I promise that you will enjoy it."

"No, Zevran," she said with a sigh.

"But my dear Warden, we could die at any moment, and for one as beautiful as you to join your ancestors a maiden would be a crime against all that is good," he said.

"There's no crime," she gritted out, "I am familiar with the act of which you speak."

"Ah," he grinned in delight, "That's much better then. Perhaps we should compare notes? I could-"

"Zevran," she growled, "I _will_ hurt you if you don't shut up."

"Promises, promises," he sighed, but desisted, dropping back to strike up a conversation with Alistair.

Girstenn continued on, catching brief mention of the word "lamppost" behind her but choosing desperately to ignore it.

She and Sten walked in silence towards the Circle Tower of Ferelden, on the shore of Lake Calenhad.

******************************************************************************************

Al can do Circle Tower by himself, because I hate the Fade, and he's a big boy.

******************************************************************************************

"Why don't you, Morrigan, Leiliana, and Zevran go ahead," she said to Alistair.

"But we neeeeeeed you," he whined.

"Nonsense," she said. "You're a templar, Morri's a mage, and with two rogues to rob the Circle blind you'll come out with piles of lyrium. I just don't _do_ \- magic things," she said in discomfort. "I'm a dwarf."

"I have no wish to be involved in such," Sten agreed, and they stood, arms folded in unintentional, near-identical positions.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Whatever we're doing, let us do it, instead of standing around like fools."

"Sten and I will wait at the Spoiled Princess and keep eye out for that Blackstone fellow, Sammael," Girstenn said quickly. "I'll keep Tenderfoot here- you don't need a mabari marking the Circle Tower as his private property."

Alistair pouted at her. "But-"

"Are you not to be king?" Sten said pointedly. "If you cannot gain allies on your own, how do you hope to rule?"

"I don't _want_ to be king," Alistair complained.

"Would you leave this Loghain, your enemy, as ruler?" Sten responded.

"Well- no, but-"

" _Parshaara_ \- you whine like a child. Must the Warden do everything for you?"

Alistair reddened. "I'm a Warden too, you know-"

"Then perhaps you should act like it," Sten replied implacably.

"Fine," Alistair snapped. "Let's go."

Girstenn's eyebrows rose as he stalked off toward the boat, the other three trailing behind him. "I'm impressed," she said, "I was beginning to wonder if he was capable of initiative."

He nodded. "I do not know how you plan to change such a follower into a leader."

"Everyone starts as a child," she replied, "but even children grow into adults. Alistair is just taking a little longer than most."

Sten shook his head in doubt. "As you say, _kadan_ ," he replied.

"What is a _kadan_?" she said curiously.

"A friend," he said, looking out over the lake, "That which is held close to the heart."

"You would name me such?" Girstenn said in surprise. "A woman who is not a woman, a warrior who spends too much time in preparation and not enough time in battle, a Warden who has yet to confront the Archdemon?" She paused. "I rather thought you simply tolerated me."

Sten turned and looked at her, steadily. "You are unlike any in the lands of the Qunari, it is true," he said, "But you have continued to do that which I considered impossible, and although I do not understand your strength, I respect it. You are a worthy warrior, _kadan_. You have made allies of enemies, gathered an army with nothing, from nothing, and as if you were ashkaari yourself, you retrieved my soul, Asala, one sword in an entire country."

Girstenn blinked, cheeks warming in that same damnable blush. "Thank you," she said, "May I also call you _kadan_?"

Amethyst eyes watched her carefully. "If you feel that I am such, you may," he answered.

"You are a powerful warrior, and I trust both your strength and your honor," Girstenn said. "You give me much credit with such a title, and I return it, kadan."

He nodded, and they stood in the gathering dark for a moment, something indefinable passing between them.

Girstenn licked her lips, feeling oddly shy. "Shall we inquire at the inn about our deserter?" she asked, and Sten nodded, falling into step beside her.

******************************************************************************************

The next day Girstenn woke with the sun, washing her face and putting on her armor. With a bit of coin the innkeeper had admitted that the deserter was seen regularly in the area, stopping back for supplies before heading back into the Bannorn to hide in the woods. He was due back today, and when he arrived, Girstenn intended to be ready for him.

She found Sten in the common room, and joined him in breaking their morning fast. The porridge was simple but good, flavored with _cassia_ from Rivain, and Girstenn grinned as she put the small tin in front of the Qunari. She'd traded with the shifty-eyed apostate who'd been playing merchant that morning, while letting Tenderfoot out to relieve himself, and had been delighted to at last find a hint of home for Sten.

Sten looked at the small wooden box then up at her. "What is this?" he asked.

"Open it and see," she said, smiling in anticipation.

He carefully prized open the fitted lid, and she saw the moment the scent hit him, something flashing across his face, a ghost of a smile, a hint of sadness, the breath of home in a foreign land as the dried tea leaves gave off their pungent scent.

"Is it all right?" she asked. "He told me it was from up north, so I was hoping it'd be to your liking."

"It is- perfect," he said, quietly, "But- here, you must try it." He stood and in record time had requisitioned a pot of hot (but not boiling) water from the innkeeper, and tying a small bit of the tea into a clean scrap of cloth, began to steep the tea.

They ate their porridge in comfortable silence, Tenderfoot having long since finished his leg of lamb and simply worrying at the bone, and when the tea was steeped he poured her a mug.

Girstenn hummed appreciatively as the scent hit her nose, and sipped slowly, allowing the taste to linger.

"It's very good," she said, "Like a taste of spring, like fresh grass and flowers, as much scent as taste."

Sten nodded, sipping at his own cup.

"There are things I miss about Orzammar," she admitted, "but the beverages aren't one of them." She wrinkled her nose. "Once you've had something not boiled from lichen, you can't ever go back."

After breakfast they headed outside, and seeing neither hide nor hair of the wanted man, melted into the brush to wait. After several interminable hours, a small group of raggedly dressed men approached, and the two warriors readied themselves before stepping out of the trees.

"Sammael?" Girstenn asked, and he turned, glare turning into an uncertain scowl as Sten loomed threateningly.

"You have some kind of problem?" the thief challenged.

"We're here on behalf of the Blackstone Irregulars," Girstenn said.

"Oh-" Sammael's gaze skittered over to Sten, then back to her, noting the Warden crest on her armor. "What is this about?" he bluffed.

"I hear you stole some supplies when you deserted," she answered.

"How sad it is to see a Grey Warden manipulated," he said, drawing his sword. "But I have no time to straighten this out for you. Men-" he said, and the others drew their swords- "Let's teach the Grey Warden a lesson about trust."

Girstenn put up her shield and settled into a defensive stance, then waited-

He charged with a hoarse yell, and as Sten tore into two others, she blocked his blow, and waited-

There. When the opening came she thrust, fast and accurate, and heard his ragged scream as her sword pierced his side, right under the armpit, then staggered as a blow from behind knocked her helmet off. Tenderfoot was there in a moment, nearly two hundred fifty pounds of angry mabari bearing the man to the ground.

As he fell back, she charged in with a flurry of blows, his parries weakening as blood poured down his side. When he fell, she was on him in an instant, slashing his throat open with a single directed slice.

Tenderfoot had taken down a third man, and still covered in the warm, fresh blood of the newly dead Sammael, she put the bandit to the sword.

Sten looked over at her, and in that moment they were of one mind, warriors, trembling with the rush of battle, predators and victors, his teeth flashing in a grin that matched hers.

Kicking over the dead men, they quickly stripped them of anything valuable, Girstenn heading to the edge of the lake to wash as Tenderfoot marked an old boat in typical Mabari fashion.

Sten joined her, and they stripped off their armor, rinsing hands and faces, Sten kneeling to duck his head in the cold lake water.

Girstenn winced, wondering how much blood she had in her hair-

"Here, _kadan_ ," he said, standing, hands going to her bun, pulling out the pins, and as her hair fell down, she felt him tug her into a kneeling position. She went, and without further ado he rinsed her hair in the water, hands working through it until no trace of gore remained.

"Thank you," she said, twisting her wet hair into a semblance of a bun- it would do, until she could get a hot bath in the inn.

She looked up to see amethyst eyes boring into her, warm, determined, and by the Ancestors-

"Sten?" she said in a small voice, feeling desire curl in her, the feeling for him she'd never allowed herself to admit until she saw it mirrored back.

"Warden," he said.

She had no words with which to answer, and leaning forward until their breaths mingled brushed her lips across his.

He was as still as the Stone before her, and taking a breath, she pulled back.

"Do you want to lay with me?" she asked.

"I have no wish for children," he rumbled, "and you are incapable of producing any."

Girstenn smiled. "Believe it or not, people actually do this simply to enjoy it," she said.

"I have never done such a thing," he answered.

"I can show you," she said quietly.

He looked at her, considering, then nodded. "Very well," he answered.

"Come," she said, and picking up her armor, walked into the inn, up the stairs to her room, Sten close behind. She closed the door behind him, nearly trembling, and turned to see him watching her.

"You are afraid," he said.

"A little," she admitted, setting down her armor and motioning for him to do the same. "Come and sit with me."

He followed her lead, his heavy weight sinking next to her on the bed, and looking at him, she explained- "One does not gulp down a scalding cup of tea, nor crush a pastry into bits in order to enjoy it," she said, and he nodded.

"This is like any other experience of the senses- it should be done slowly, carefully, and with appreciation," she said, taking one of his huge hands in her own. "It is an exploration of both one's own body as well as that of another, and finding ways to bring pleasure to both through different kinds of touch."

She brought his hand close and brushed her lips across it.

She moved closer and reached up, tugging on his shoulders to bring his head down to her level. "Kiss-" she laid a soft kiss on his lips- "gently."

He waited as she kissed him, soft nibbles and licks, and when he began to kiss back, slowly, deliberately, taking everything she'd just done to him and giving it back, she let out a low, needy sound.

She felt his hands in her hair, and moments later it fell, and he let out a low, approving rumble.

Reaching up, she smoothed hands over his chest- he was so strong, not like most humans or elves, but as broad-shouldered as her own people, tall in a way that made her feel tiny, womanly.

She pushed against that muscled chest, breaking the kiss, and said "Take off your shirt," before moving to pull her tunic over her head.

"Little Warden," he said, eyes approving as he took in her bare stomach and shoulders, the way her breasts pressed against the binding cloth.

"Big Qunari," she replied fondly, unwrapping the cloth around her breasts.

She was broad-hipped and large-breasted in the manner of the _dwarva_ , and while a human or an elf might prefer a lithe and willowy creature, her Sten seemed to have no such desire. She felt his hands skim lightly over her pale shoulders, and ran her own up his tantalizingly bared and incredibly muscled chest.

Pushing him back to lay on the bed, she moved and with difficulty straddled his waist. By the Stone, he was _broad_. She ran palms down his chest, noting the scars, the muscles, the bronzed tint of his skin with a touch of grey. "Are all of your people so strong?" she asked, and the edge of his mouth quirked slightly.

"I am a soldier of the _Beresaad_ ," he said by way of explanation.

"Mmm," she said, and taking one of his huge hands, placed it on her breast. "Touch feels good, especially here," she said, sighing with pleasure as her nipple hardened under his palm. "And most places where a touch feels good, a kiss feels better."

He squeezed gently, testing the feel of her underneath his hand, and when his fingers moved to toy with her nipple, she leaned her head back and arched into his touch with a moan.

"That's- very good," she said with difficulty, and a moment later he sat up, then pinned her with a swift movement to the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

No longer content to be a passive participant, he knelt over her, running his mouth lightly over the skin of her arm, nipping at her shoulder, then burying his head in her neck.  She sighed at the touch, bending her head to give him access while running her hands along the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders.  By the Ancestors, he was built like a bull, and this close she could smell the spice of him, an exotic mix of tangy citrus, sweat, the faint hint of blood from their battle, the incense that he burned each morning- it was mesmerizing.

When his mouth moved down, a hint of sharp teeth as he fastened on her breast, she groaned.  "Sten," she gasped as he kissed and licked, and amethyst eyes flicked up to hers, something in them wild and almost frightening.  "Don't stop," she whispered, and his eyes flicked down again, his huge hand kneading her other breast with a pressure just short of pain.

She needed to touch him, to taste that tangy skin, and she pushed at him until his mouth came off her breast with an audible _pop_ , then pushed herself into a sitting position, Sten kneeling on the bed, both of them breathing heavily.  She straddled his thighs and tasted his neck, then kissed her way down to his nipple, his hand in her hair as she fought for dominance, smoothing a hand around his side to knead the muscle at his back, hearing him growl as she moved down to bite at him, sucking, marking him, hers.

Pushing him away, she stepped off the bed, tugging him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and untying the laces of his straining trousers, she pulled them down to the edge of his waist.  "Lift your hips," she ordered, and as he obeyed she tugged off trousers and smalls in one movement, eyes widening as she freed his cock.  Like the rest of him, he was _huge_ and hairless, with an intriguing downward curve that she had no doubt would feel amazing if he took her from behind.

Reaching down, she curled a hand around him, wringing a low sound from him as she stroked.  He allowed it for a few moments before seizing the upper hand once again, pulling down her own trousers with such force that she heard the fabric rip, then give as she stood between his legs, naked before his scrutiny.

Huge hands smoothed over her hips and ass, cupping her buttocks as he assessed her curves.  Seated, he was still slightly taller, even as she stood between his legs, and he bent for another scorching kiss, kneading her ass while his tongue plundered her mouth.

She moved a hand between her legs, fingers dipping in golden curls and slipping in between the lips of her cunt to slip a bit of wetness from her vulva up to her nub.  Rubbing, she whispered against his lips, "Put your fingers on mine."

He moved an arm between them, wide, callused fingers finding where she rubbed in circles, and she gave him a few moments to feel the movement, pressure and rhythm, then moved her own fingers on top of his, guiding him to mimic her.

As in other things, he was a quick study, and within moments she moved her hands to grip at his shoulders, feeling those large, rough fingers pressing at her swell, sliding down to investigate her slit, then back up to rub at the spot that made her gasp.

When his fingers moved back down, she let out a sigh.  "Put one finger inside, slowly," she said in a low voice, "And after that two more."

She opened her eyes to see him watching his fingers disappear into her, and as that first digit stretched her, deliciously, his eyes flicked up again to gauge her reaction.  "Warden?" he said, when his eyes met hers, and she convulsed involuntarily around his finger.  "Good," she confirmed with a gasp, bucking against his finger, reaching down to stroke the shaft of that huge, thick cock.

And then he was pressing another finger inside, matching the movements of his hand to the rhythm of her strokes.  When the third finger came she mewled, almost in protest, the burning stretch almost too much, and she wasn't quite wet enough, but oh, it was good.

When he pulled his fingers from her she opened her eyes in surprise, then let out an _eep_ of surprise as he took the upper hand again, pulling her back to the bed, fingers around her arms so strong she'd no doubt have finger-shaped bruises on the morrow.  

He spread her thighs wide, then reached down with a hand to spread her lips before his gaze.  "Where a touch feels good, a kiss feels better?" he asked, and she sighed with a breathy _oh, yes_.  A moment later he bent down, lifting her hips in his hands, and tasted her, tongue mimicking the movements of his fingers, her strangled moans encouraging him.

Sten licked in long strokes from the bottom of her slit to the top, stopping to lap at her nub before moving back down to dip his tongue inside, as if he couldn't get enough of her taste, his breath warm on her cunt as he breathed in her scent.

"Mmn," she said, pushing at his shoulders, "Come here."  With a final lick, he released her, allowing her to pull him to a kneeling position.  Sitting up to grasp his cock, she guided him to her entrance, and when she'd set his head against her, she said, softly, "Push, slowly, in and out, until you're inside."

He pushed, and her neck arched back as she gave herself up to the feeling, filled, stretched, strong hands on her thighs, and eased a finger down to rub at her swollen nub, only to feel his fingers push her away, a callused thumb replacing it.

"By the Ancestors, you're good at this," she breathed, adjusting slowly to the drag and burn inside her.  She was so tight around him that he could barely move, giving before his pushing one torturous inch at a time, the rhythmic movement of his thumb easing the way.

"Warden," he said, voice tight with passion, and she moved to rub a hand along his muscled thigh.

"How does that feel?" she asked, and he let out a hiss of breath, never stopping his slow onslaught, inching in and out as she eased around him.

"It is- incredible," he said between clenched teeth, and when he finally hilted in her they both groaned.

She was close, so close, filled completely, his thumb stroking her clit, and when he moved, a short thrust in and out, she fell apart with a gasp and a cry, convulsing around him.

He drew in a quick breath at the feeling, thrusting into that tightening vise, wringing a strangled shout of "Oh, _yes_ ," from her, and she pushed away his thumb with a cry and a command of _more_ from her lips.

He gave her more, and as he began to pound into her, harder, she opened her eyes to see his head back, eyes closed, his hands on her hips, pulling her onto his cock in time with his thrusts.

It was good, so good, but she remembered the tantalizing curve of his cock, and said with difficulty, "Sten, stop for a moment."

He opened his eyes and growled at her, not slowing in the slightest, and she convulsed around him at the thought that perhaps he _wouldn't_ stop, that he'd simply take her however he wanted, as long as he wanted, that muscled body holding her down-

"I just want to change positions," she said, thickly, "Trust me."

He slowed, reluctantly, and she pulled herself off his cock, scrambling to her knees before him.  She glanced behind her, spreading her legs.  "Inside," she said, and a moment later he was pressing back into her, that glorious pressure and thickness, and when the head of his cock hit _that spot_ inside her, she saw stars, gasping and clenching.

" _Go_ ," she begged, and a moment later his hands were back on her hips, pulling her into those deep, powerful thrusts, and she wailed, coming again around him.

He bit out a phrase in the qunari tongue- whatever it was, it sounded desperate, and the tempo of his thrusts increased, his breath ragged, and a moment later he pushed into her with a savage cry, coming so hard she could feel him spasming inside her.

They relaxed, slowly, his hands cupping her buttocks, then smoothing up her back, pulling her hips against him when she started to pull off of him.

************************************************************************

She looked over her shoulder coquettishly through tangled red-gold hair, saying with a grin, "Are you planning on keeping me like this all day?"

"Perhaps," he said neutrally, the small quirk at the corner of his mouth belying the tone.

"Cute," she said.

"I thought so," he answered, satisfaction in his voice.

She squeezed her muscles around him and heard him gasp behind her.  "Sure about that?" she asked smugly, and got a smack on the ass from a broad hand for her trouble.

"Enough, woman," he said, easing out of her.

She felt his seed drip from her, and moaned when a finger came to toy at her entrance, smoothing the come along her slit.  Oh, the things they could do, _would_ do- she thought about straddling those broad hips and riding him into oblivion, running her hands over the muscles of his abdomen while he thrust into her from underneath- _next time_ , she promised herself.

Sitting up, she took the hand that had been toying with her, licking his seed off that finger, looking at him through her lashes as her tongue lapped at his callused finger.  He was watching her with interest, and she added _suck Sten off_ to the rapidly growing list of things she was going to do with him, to him, the imagined feel of that huge cockhead in her mouth, her hands stroking up and down his length, perhaps playing with his hairless balls-

She let his hand go with a sigh- Alistair and the others would probably be back soon, and it was nearing time for the noon meal-

They dressed and headed downstairs for a lunch of cold mutton and sauteed spring vegetables, then headed outside to watch for Alistair and the rest.

They lazed in the grass, enjoying the warm weather with its hint of summer, and feeling silly, Girstenn braided a crown of flowers, like Leiliana had shown her, dropping it with a smile on the head of her stone-faced lover.

"Warden," he warned, and she moved in to kiss the frown off his face.  "You look perfect," she snickered, and handed him a rose that nearly matched the color of his eyes.

He frowned at her again, but brought the flower to his nose and smelled it, his expression lightening slightly at the fragrance.  He lifted the crown of flowers from his head and placed it on hers, both of their heads turning as they heard oars moving through the water.

They stood and watched the boat from the Circle Tower approach, their companions and an elderly woman bloody, battered, and bruised as they stepped onto the dock.

Girstenn folded her arms as Alistair approached.  "Couldn't you just use the treaties?  You look like you've beaten up the entire Tower."

"Just about," Alistair groaned.  "Blood mages took over and summoned demons- mages were turning into abominations left and right.  We managed to kill the leader without having to execute the entire Tower.  This is Wynne, she'll be coming with us."

Girstenn furrowed her brow- the woman looked familiar- "Were you at Ostagar?" she asked.

"Indeed I was, Warden," the woman said, eyeing the dwarf and the Qunari carefully.

Alistair was eyeing her strangely as well, Zevran and Leiliana not quite hiding matching smirks behind his back, Morrigan standing as far away from the group as she could get, clutching a leather-bound tome.

"Are you-" Alistair motioned to her head, and Girstenn realized she was still wearing the crown of flowers.  "It's nothing," she demurred.  "We took care of Sammael," she said, gesturing to the neat pile of corpses on the beach.

Zevran snickered.  "Did the deserter _bite_ you, my dear Warden?" he asked, eyeing her neck, and Girstenn brought a hand up to cover the telling imprint of teeth on her neck.

"Er-" she said.

"The _deserter_ did not," Sten said with satisfaction from behind her, and she turned to see him just barely smiling, rose in his fingers.

Leiliana laughed out loud while Zevran clutched his chest theatrically.  "Ah, my dear Warden, how can I compete with a man of such stature?"

Alistair's eyes moved from her to Sten, then back to her, then back to Sten, and suddenly blushed furiously.

Girstenn sighed- there was no keeping a secret with this bunch.


End file.
